


Freedom of the Lost

by Vorrir



Category: Church (Short Film 2019)
Genre: F/M, Will add/edit as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorrir/pseuds/Vorrir
Summary: A direct fan continuation of Emptyfeet's Church Animatic. Basically, it got me thinking for many hours about the world these three characters are escaping from, and I had to put those ideas somewhere. Hope you enjoy.





	1. Day 1

It had been a peaceful night. The moon was full above, casting gentle light down upon the Capital. The hour was late, leaving none but the curious alley cat awake. So no eyes were watching The Church, the shining beacon of the Capital, as a window shattered on the second floor.

Ashivon cradled the child as he and Sanga rolled out of their fall, ignoring the shards of glass beneath them. They ran through the courtyard, the moonlight casting harsh shadows onto the ground. With every step, they felt their hearts pounding in their ears, their eyes darting from side to side, certain they had seen movement in the shadows. They ran and ran, climbing over the fences of the Church, into the streets of the Capital.

Careful not to wake those around them, they clung to the shadows, ducking into alleyways and abandoned streets. Adrenaline shaking their hands, they spied an abandoned derelict house, with shattered windows and ivy climbing the chimney. With a silent agreement, they slipped through the broken fence, and moved to the back of the building. Careful that no one was watching, they broke the lock on the cellar entrance, and silently prayed that no one heard the door’s rusty hinges.

The cellar was lit only by a thin musty window near the ceiling. They quickly made their way through the dusty shelves, checking to make sure they were alone. Confident they were safe for the moment, Sanga and Ashivon collapsed against the wall, panting against the cold stone. Ashivon finally set down the child, stretching his stiff elbow. As he went to wipe his brow, however, he realized he was still holding Sanga’s hand. They looked down at their joined hands, met each other’s eyes, and after a breathless moment, Sanga let out a small laugh of relief. Ashivon soon joined her, and the stress and worry came to a head as the two of them laughed loudly in the damp cellar, their first breath of freedom tasting of dust and mold. Eventually, they settled down, letting out a deep sigh.

Finally taking a deep breath, Sanga felt a sharp pain on her chest. The gash across her Mark had reopened in their escape. Muttering a curse under her breath, she tore off the hem of her tunic, using its thick cotton to dress her wound. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would do for the night.

Ashivon looked to the huddled child in the corner, and asked, “So… What now?”

Sanga put on her bravest face as she said, “For now, we rest. We worry about the rest in the morning.”

Seemingly put at ease, at least for now, the child nodded, his shoulders immediately slumping. This had been the longest night of their lives, and sleep was fast approaching. Ashivon found a few old blankets that were still mostly intact, and laid them out as a makeshift bed for the three of them. They all held each other close to ward away the cold, and settled in for what fitful rest they could find. And throughout the night, Ashivon never let go of Sanga’s hand.

* * *

 

The High Councilor stared out of the broken window, his iron gaze following the fleeing trio. Squaring his shoulders, he clasped his hands behind his back, and turned around to address those that had been gathered for the Executioner’s purification.

“Tell no one of what you witnessed this evening,” he declared. “I must meet with the Councilors to decide what will be done about this. For now, shut down the city, she must not escape with those things.”

As he moved to leave, one of the monks asked, “But sir, what if they slip through tonight? No demon has ever escaped these halls.”

Silencing him with a gaze, the High Councilor said, “Watch your tongue, monk. No demons have escaped. She is wounded, and the demons cannot run forever. They will seek shelter for the night, and shun the light of day. All we need do is close the gates tomorrow, and this city will become their cage.”

As the High Councilor left to rouse the remaining members of the Council, Sanga and Ashivon held the child between them, suspecting but unaware of the plans already in motion against them.

* * *

 

The High Councilor tapped his fingers against his chair, careful not to betray his impatience in any other way. He sat alone in the council chamber, as he often did whenever he called a meeting this late. He sat in the tallest seat of the Councilors, their semicircle table facing a plain wooden stool. Were it not for the fear that that seat should ever be filled during these meetings, he would almost find it comical.

Even still, he leaned back, resting his head against his chair as he muttered, “Those damn fools are dragging their feet.”

“Careful Grom, I might just take offense to that,” came a voice from the door.

Jolting up, the High Councilor noticed that he had relaxed but a moment before Councilor Kiron walked through the door. His robes were slung carelessly across his shoulders, as always, though his hair was a good deal more unkempt than usual. He moved into the room, his incessant sandals slapping against the hardwood floors as he took his seat by High Councilor Grom’s side.

Silently cursing his luck, the High Councilor sighed, asking, “Must you always arrive in such dishevelment, Councilor Kiron?”

Setting down his coffee, Kiron said, “How many years have we known each other Grom?”

“Too many,” the High Councilor deadpanned.

“Exactly! You don’t need to keep up the whole, ‘Councilor Kiron,’ routine, it’s just Kiron.”

“Forgive me if I do not share your lackadaisical disregard, Councilor Kiron.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The High Councilor did his best to ignore Councilor Kiron’s smile, as they fell into a one sided silence. Thankfully even Councilor Kiron knew that official meetings could not begin until a majority of the councilors were present, so he did not bother asking why he had been awoken. They sat alone for another twenty minutes, as they waited for the other councilors to arrive.

Councilor Kiron jolted awake as the door swung open, the rest of the councilors making their way into the chamber. The seven seats were filled by the Councilors Alanis, Nym, Goras, Halueth, and Ellisar, joining Councilor Kiron and High Councilor Grom.

After they took their seats, the High Councilor cleared his throat, saying, “My apologies for having to rouse you all at this late hour, and-”

Councilor Alanis raised her hand, interrupting to say, “May we please skip the formalities? I would like to return to bed.” The other shared similar mutterings, thankful for the interruption.

Taking a deep breath, the High Councilor said, “Very well. But I doubt any of you will wish to sleep after this meeting. Earlier this evening, our Executioner escaped.”

The room fell silent. The High Councilor reveled in his control of the room, savoring every second as he sat in the tense quiet. Seemingly all at once, the other six councilors began demanding answers, explanations, and asking why they had not been awoken earlier.

Extending his hand to silence them, the High Councilor calmly said, “This evening, as you all know, the Executioner was slated to be purified after showing weakness in its duty. As some of you might not, a monk in our order, Sanga, had been corrupted by the beast. Her official annex from the order was supposed to be directly after the Executioner’s purification. Needless to say, things got out of hand. Sanga broke the beast’s bonds, they stole our new Executioner, and ran into the night. I have gathered you all to seek council on the best course of action going forward.”

The room was silent once more. Some were stunned, still holding up accusatory fingers from their tirade of questions. Others merely slumped against their seats, their gazes distant as the implications were laid out before them.

Kiron, however, let out a breathy chuckle, sarcastically saying, “Well fuck. What’s the bad news?”


	2. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just a bit of heads up, I started this project before some canon answers were given by Emptyfeet (Toastyhat on Tumblr), so I guess this can now be considered canon divergent? Here's the lore I'm working with. It'll be touched on later in the story, but just so we're all on the same page.
> 
> 1\. The Church's magics are a natural facet of their world, and its origins were hidden to maintain the superiority of the Church.
> 
> 2\. The "Demons" are transformed humans. They naturally occur in arcane circumstances, "seventh son of a seventh son," type stuff. When they Shift, they lose their memory, pieces returning as they grow, and are truly different people. They used to be revered for their connection to the natural magic of this world, but the Church hunted them near extinction, and created a chamber where they can manufacture a Shift, which they use to make Executioners.
> 
> 3\. Different band marks along the arms of warrior monks help them create different objects.
> 
> 4\. The Statue(TM) in the animatic is of the founder of the Church, and to this day the Church is lead by The Matron, a title passed down similar to The Pope.
> 
> However, the one thing I will maintain as canon until I die is toe beans. All the Demons have toe beans.

Ashivon woke with the dawn. At least, he assumed it was dawn. The window above was still dark, but his keepers at the Church made certain to beat a daily routine into him. Most of the time literally. His eyes snapped open in alarm, feeling a heavy pressure on his right arm. Jolting up, Ashivon bared his claws, immediately stopping when he saw the slumbering child resting on his side. Reacting to his reposition, the sleeping child whined slightly, nestling further into his warm fur. Ashivon relaxed, his claws retracting once more, as he looked over to Sanga. He had woken her up, and she calmly met his eyes.

After a moment of silence, she whispered, “What are we going to do?”

Careful not to wake the child, Ashivon said, “I don’t know.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Of course not, but where can we go?”

Sanga thought for a moment before she said, “Nowhere in the city is going to be safe. We were lucky to find this basement, but we can’t rely on that. The longer we stay, the worse it’s going to be. Hell, our faces are probably already on every bounty board in the city, let alone the guards.” Thinking deeply, she nibbled her thumb before saying, “The woods.”

“Woods?”

“Part of our lessons as monks was on the surrounding area. It was largely about different traditions and laws in neighboring cities and kingdoms, but they did tell us about a largely uncharted forest to the west of the Capital. A few days journey at most. All they told us were cautionary tales, but it’s feared by The Church, and it would keep us safe longer than this basement.”

“If it’s feared by them, I doubt it’s safe.”

“Nowhere’s safe. Besides, their stories were always about raging beasts, hordes of demons, and the woods themselves confusing people to trap them. Thinking back, it was probably all lies to keep us from leaving.”

“And if they weren’t?” Ashivon asked, nodding down to the sleeping child between them.

“Then we face that when we find out. Mark or no, I’m still a warrior trained by generations, and you’re one of the most accomplished fighters I’ve ever met. We can handle a beast or two.”

Rolling onto his back, Ashivon said, “I don’t like it. It’s a major risk no matter what’s true.”

Scratching her head, she said, “Way I see it, best worst case scenario, working to stay in the woods still gets us outside the Capital, even if we need to make a new plan.”

“Best worst case? Don’t those just… Cancel each other out?”

“Well, the worst worst case is we get caught and…”

A tense silence followed, both unwilling to voice the quite literally mortal risks at play.

Eventually, Ashivon sighed, saying, “Okay. Woods it is. No matter where we end up, we’ll need supplies. I’m fine to go a couple days without food if need be, but this one’s gonna need some meat soon.”

Sitting up, Sanga said, “That could be hard to move around. How much do you think he’ll need?”

Shrugging, he answered, “I’m honestly not sure. When The Church made me, they locked me in a room with a cow. They didn’t let me out until the bones were dry.” Thinking for a moment, he said, “Then again, I only ate it because it was the only thing there."

"I saw some of your meals in transit, those were largely meat."

"Yeah, cooked meat. This was raw, and bleeding."

"Fair, that is disgusting." After a beat of silence, Sanga continued, "Wait, have you ever had a problem with blood?"

"You mean in the pit?"

"Just in general."

"I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

Sanga shrugged, saying, "Well, it's admittedly a dark thought, but what if the cow wasn't just to feed you?"

"What, like some kind of test?"

"No, more of a," she paused then, searching for the right word, before finishing, "desensitizing thing."

Ashivon looked up to the ceiling, huffing out a breath before saying, "That is dark. But… makes far too much sense. Though, speaking of dark," he said, pointing to the window, "it's not anymore."

Sanga looked up to see soft light filtering into the cellar, dust gently drifting in its beam. The child still sleeping peacefully, she rolled to the side before standing up and stretching. Before she reached her full height, however, she flinched, and rubbed the bandage on her chest.

"Something the matter?" Ashivon asked.

Waving him off, she said, "No, it'll be fine. I've had worse than this, I just need to replace the bandage. Good thing I was already planning on getting medical supplies with the food." With that, she adjusted her robes, closing them tighter to the neck to hide her wound.

As she went to find a cloak in the cellar, Ashivon asked, "You said it yourself, our faces are probably plastered all across the Capital. What's your plan?"

Throwing the cloak over her shoulders, Sanga said, "I was sent on a lot of errand trips before I became a warrior of The Church. There's a bazaar near here that should carry everything we need, though I doubt they’ll take the word of an excommunicated monk as payment. " Seeing his worried expression, she continued, "This will work. The crowds are largest in the morning, and believe it or not, I know how to go unnoticed."

“Not to me.”

Kneeling down to him, Sanga said, “You’re a sap, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine. All you need to worry about is keeping this young one in here while I’m gone.”

Looking down at the child, Ashivon said, “On second thought, maybe I should deal with the guards. Torches and pitchforks can’t be that bad.”

Rolling her eyes, Sanga grabbed a disheveled bag from the shelves, saying, “Oh no, that privilege is mine.” Moving to the door, she looked back, continuing, “I’ll be back soon.”

At the creak of the door, the sleeping child finally roused, looking up at Ashivon through squinted eyes.

“Morning, kid,” Ashivon said. “You understand me?”

The child nodded.

“But you don’t remember anything?”

Shutting his eyes, the child seemed to be looking for something, but eventually shook his head.

“Don’t worry about that, they’ll come back eventually. For now, let’s focus on finding you something to eat. You hungry?” At the child’s nod, Ashivon said, “Alright, let’s see what we can find down here.”

 

* * *

 

Some hours later, Ashivon heard three knocks on the cellar door. He immediately motioned for the child to be quiet, before moving to the side of the entrance. As the door creaked open, he bared his claws, his heart pounding in his ears.

A quiet, “I’m back,” was all it took for Ashivon to visibly relax, his claws retracting as he pushed off the wall.

Sanga slowly closed the door behind her, descending the short stairs before meeting Ashivon in a welcome embrace, asking, “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“We found an old crate that held some scraps of jerky, but other than that it’s been quiet. How were the pitchforks?”

Setting her packs down, she said, “That’s what I’m worried about. They weren’t there.”

“What?”

“Everything was fine. There weren’t any guards, no one paid me a glance, let alone a second one. I checked the boards at the square, and there was no mention of last night. Our faces are nowhere, no one was alarmed. I checked the western gate, there was practically no one, the guards were playing cards for Light’s sake.”

“Isn’t that wonderful? We’re still ahead of this, we can get out tonight.”

“No, we’re not ahead of anything. I don’t know what they’re playing at, but we both know this is measured.”

Scratching his neck, Ashivon said, “You’re right. So what do we do? You said it yourself, we can’t stay here.”

Nibbling her thumb, Sanga thought for a moment before saying, “Ultimately this shouldn’t change anything. We already knew that they would move against us, only now we need to look for things that aren’t obvious. Our plan remains. Get out of the Capital, go to the woods, try and establish somewhere safe to plan our next steps. I used the quiet to be a bit bolder with what I took, so I got us plenty of medicine and food, along with packs for both of you.”

“Fantastic, we ran out of jerky a while ago,” Ashivon said, pointing over his shoulder at the child actively licking the paper the meat had been stored in.

“Huh. Glad I got more.”

At that, the child’s head shot up, his eyes wide and gleaming in the dim light.

 

* * *

 

 

The night before, the Council stood arguing, their voices ringing through the Church. As soon as Kiron had broken the silence, all hell broke loose. Alanis was advocating for an immediate search of the streets, tearing families out of their homes and punishing any who would harbor the Executioner. Halueth and Nym, ever the followers, were quick to back her. Ellisar was instead pushing to form a militia in the morning, to support the guards in a coordinated search of the Capital’s sewers and underbelly. Doubtless he was trying to use this as an excuse to garner political favor while technically working to resolve the situation. Goras was beside him, but threw too many poorly hidden shrewd glances to hide his understanding of Ellisar’s position. Kiron, as usual, was avoiding the discussion, instead flagging down a servant to bring him more coffee.

As the High Councilor listened to their squabbling, it became clear that none of them knew how to react, only that they had to react strongly. Normally Kiron saved his coffee refills until an hour into their meetings, not twenty minutes. After a moment, the High Councilor reached forward to the small totem in front of him, and rapped it on the table thrice, calling the Council to order. Within moments, the shouting match ended, and all eyes pointed to him.

“If I may,” the High Councilor began, “while both of your initiatives have merit, neither are what this situation calls for. A militant search of the Capital, militia or no, might be successful, that is true. However, regardless of how it is done, such a search would cause panic in the streets, good people turning against each other, and inevitable chaos from well meaning intentions. A chaos that would be exceptionally easy for a warrior of our order to exploit.”

“What would you suggest, then?” Ellisar incredulously asked.

Careful not to appear as if he had been waiting for that question, the High Councilor paused for a moment before saying, “The warrior is wounded, they took a child, and Executioner or no, a demon’s stamina is not limitless. The Capital is too large for them to traverse tonight, they will most likely seek shelter, somewhere abandoned or derelict, before trying to make their escape tomorrow night. In that case, we must close the gates at first light. Full quarantine, no one in or out, say there were some repairs to be made to the portcullis. Then, the Capital itself would become a cage, and we could work with the guards to slowly and systematically work our way through the city. Either we calmly find the Executioner, or their attempts to escape reveal themselves.”

The High Councilor watched as the councilors’ eyes darted back and forth, each contemplating how they could spin such an event in their favor.

Kiron, as always, was the first to agree, saying, “I dare say that’s the first bright idea I’ve heard tonight.”

As the others declared their assent, Kiron nudged the High Councilor, shooting him an all too obvious conspiratorial wink.

“I think it’s a foolish idea.”

An immediate silence swept the table. The councilors had been so focused on the High Councilor and their own plots that they failed to watch the door to their chamber. As such, The Matron, the undisputed leader of the Church, had wandered into their midst unannounced.

The Matron was an old and hunched woman, practically swaddled in jackets and robes to fend off the mid-summer chill only she could feel. She never sat anywhere without an aid in earshot to help her stand, clutching a cane in the brief periods she had to, and the High Councilor met her gaze with nothing but dread. Her cold golden eyes pierced through his soul, saw through any misdirection he tried, and never looked on anything without a quiet bemusement, as if she were in on some joke that no one else ever heard. Those eyes taught the High Councilor one crucial lesson every time she stared him down. That The Matron was no one to ever cross.

“Well don’t all get up on my account,” The Matron said.

The tense moment broken, the councilors rushed to stand, bowing to The Matron in reverence. The High Councilor, however, remained seated, only bowing his head, a true privilege of his position.

The Matron shuffled into the room, the clack of her plain black cane echoing in the quiet of the chamber. None but the High Councilor noticed that the cane itself was a distraction, not from any perceived frailty, but from how silent her footfalls really were. Eventually, she found her way to her plain wooden chair, and unceremoniously slumped into it, setting her cane to the side. The High Councilor wondered how she always balanced it perfectly on its head. Finally, when she was settled, she motioned for them to rise.

After the councilors had retaken their seats, the High Councilor cleared his throat, asking, “Why do you believe my strategy is lacking?”

“I didn’t say lacking,” The Matron corrected, “I said foolish. And to spare any further misunderstandings, allow me to clarify that it would be a foolhardy waste of time and resources. Neither of which we can spare on a lone wayward monk and her new pet.”

“Forgive me,” Halueth asked, “but are we still speaking of the escaped demon, known solely as the Executioner, currently hiding among our citizens, My Matron?”

“The very same,” said The Matron.

Taken aback, Halueth asked, “Again, forgive me if I’m mistaken, but doesn’t that warrant time and resources?”

“You’re forgiven,” The Matron simply said. “Besides, resources have already been spent on this fool’s errand. Isn’t that right, Grom?” At his silence, The Matron continued, “That’s alright, I don’t mind proof. Keera?” Opening her hand to her aid, she was handed a stack of familiar papers, reading, “‘I, High Councilor Grom, hereby order all gates in and out of the Capital to be closed for the foreseeable future. Be on guard for three fugitives, details to come at first light. Should anyone inquire, please note that I have provided a list of reasons, please pick one and stick to it.’ Really, one page of excuses is plenty Grom, you didn’t need to provide three. Would you like one to explain to me why you sent this without meeting with the council?”

The High Councilor had prayed this wouldn’t come to pass. That for once, she wouldn’t intercept his letters. However, he knew how these things went, so he had spent the last three hours planning his response.

Working to keep his breath even, the High Councilor said, “I believed time to be of the essence, and as such used personal favors owed to me to send out those letters to the cardinal gates. Regardless of what was agreed here this evening, I trust you all can see the prudence of my actions, especially regarding how skilled these fugitives are. If my suggestion was denied in this meeting, I would have sent further letters dismissing a personal overreaction, which would arrive before any action could be taken. None would know that we seek the Executioner, and no manpower of the Church would have been wasted. That was my reasoning, at least.”

As the councilors mulled whether to accept an apology that was never said, The Matron shrugged, saying, “Alright, I’ll take it. The wording could use some work, but otherwise it was fine.”

The council seemingly put at ease, Ellisar asked, “My Matron, if I may, why is High Councilor Grom’s plan foolish?” Catching the High Councilor’s glance in his periphery, he added, “In your words, My Matron.”

Sighing, The Matron explained, “If I must, Ellisar. Grom may be correct that the two other plans would cause mass panic, but his is no better. All his plan would do is put off that same panic, with an added claustrophobia of the quarantine to boot. Any chaos that Grom admonished you all for would only be worse in his plan, when it inevitably bled into base brawls in the streets.”

Trying to save what face he could, the High Councilor said, “I assure you, My Matron, it would not come to that.”

“You should know by now that I don’t like assurances, Grom. All they do is persuade people to ignore likely failure.”

Knowing he was beaten, the High Councilor remained silent, instead letting Alanis ask, “In that case, what action should we take, My Matron?”

“Oh, you? Nothing.”

After a moment, Nym cleared his throat, asking, “What do you mean, nothing, My Matron?”

“Exactly what I said,” The Matron clarified. “You all will do absolutely nothing. I will handle this personally. If that is unsatisfactory, we may discuss it further.”

The High Councilor looked to the councilors, before taking a steadying breath, and saying, “We are here to serve you, My Matron. If that is your choice, so be it.”

Clapping her hands, The Matron, said, “Fantastic. Then we have nothing further to discuss, and I will leave you to handle situations more fitting of your station. Keera?”

At an offered hand, The Matron’s aid was at her side, helping her stand. As she rose, the council stood with her, bowing as she exited. Once more, The Matron’s cane echoed in the silent chamber, disappearing into the adjoining hall. As soon as The Matron left, each councilor bid their farewells and hurried off to bed, until all that was left was the High Councilor stewing in his defeat, and Kiron beside him.

Polishing off his fourth cup of coffee, Kiron patted the High Councilor on the shoulder, saying, “Don’t feel too bad, Grom. I’m sure it was a good call.”

“Please don’t touch me Councilor Kiron.”

“Fair enough.”

As Kiron reached the door, he looked back, saying, “You know, Grom, I just had a shitton of coffee, and I doubt you’re headed to bed either.” At the High Councilor’s noncommittal shrug, Kiron continued, “I’ll be down in the sparring ring if you want to practice. Who knows, my stunning victory might finally get that chip off your shoulder.”

As Kiron left, laughing at his own bravado, the High Councilor mulled his offer over. Perhaps cleaning the sparring ring with his insufferable face would brighten his mood. Gathering his things, the High Councilor made a leisurely path toward the lower levels of the Church, already planning how to best defeat his second in command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, been a couple months eh? This ain't dead, I just got busy. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
